Over the Moon
by soul-dwelling
Summary: A collection of post-Chapter 113 tales and longer works. Spoilers for the entire manga and some of Soul Eater NOT. Latest chapter: "Girlfriend." Summary: Soul was supposed to introduce Maka as his "meister" to his parents. Hilarity ensues. (Word count: About 3,000; Rating: T for f-bomb)


A collection of post-Chapter 113 tales and longer works. Spoilers for the entire manga and some of Soul Eater NOT. Latest chapter: "Girlfriend." Summary: Soul was supposed to introduce Maka as his "meister" to his parents. Hilarity ensues. (Word count: 2500+)

o-o-o-o-o-o

"Nervous?"

"Incredibly."

"Remember: the guy who opens the door is not my dad. It'll be the butler. It's always the butler who answers the door here."

"I know. You told me that—five times."

"Just being thorough."

"Once before our flight, once during the flight attendant's safety precautions—"

"Maka."

"Twice during the in-flight movie."

"I think our conversation was better than the dialogue."

"And once on the ride here."

Maka Albarn stood on the front steps of an impressive estate on the French Riviera. She tried to fan herself with the map she brought with them. Despite the size of the building, she was, surprisingly to Soul Evans, not fazed in the least. It was not that Maka was not surprised to see this kind of expensive property. It was not even that security waved them through—since Wes had called ahead to vouch for them, when he was not in the middle of numerous diaper changes. Wes even convinced security not to ruin the surprise to their parents. No, it was that, when Maka focused her mind on a task, tunnel vision kicked in. Sure enough, despite her own criticism of her partner's thoroughness, she also was too focused on Soul's first meeting with his parents in five years.

She nudged him. "Come on, Death Scythe! You're not going to let something like seeing your mama and papa again bring you down, right?"

He stood up straighter, his eyes becoming more resolute as he stared at the door ahead of them. Seeing his courage rising, Maka smiled more widely, proud of him for facing the task at hand.

"Maka," he began. "I have one thing to say."

"And what's that?"

"Let's get the hell out of here." He stared at her, eyes pleading. "I think we can try this again—maybe tomorrow. Or next year."

"Soul!" She pushed his shoulder.

"We have so much to do! We have apartment shopping, setting me up as Death Scythe of Europe, meeting government officials, meeting meisters and weapons. You know, we still haven't picked out curtains for the apartment!"

"We haven't even found an apartment yet, Soul."

"See? All the more reason to get shopping!"

"You face down the Kishin itself, but your parents scare you?!"

"Parents are scary! How about when your mom came back, and you avoided her for days?!"

Maka inhaled, then sighed. "Okay. Fair point." She looked up at him and smiled. "But you have faced bigger fears." She took his hand. Soul tried to avoid eye contact, just knowing she was going to give her the doe eyes. "Right, honey?" she said, with some self-awareness at how corny the line sounded.

"Yeah, yeah," he said, trying not to blush. "I still say I could have done the whole 'Will you be my boyfriend?' thing with a little less dorkishness."

" 'Boyfriend'?"

Soul cringed, slapping his forehead.

"It was cute!"

"Kid assigns me to Europe, I beg you to come with me—"

"Soul," she lectured. "Kid assigned me to come. You were just too nervous to tell me that I should."

"Kid was insistent on getting me a new meister. I didn't know he was just going to assign me to you."

" 'Just'?"

Soul froze. He stared at his girlfriend—and was happy to see she maintained a playful smile. He inhaled, and figured now may be the best time to ask:

"Could…Could we not mention the dating thing yet?"

Maka stared at Soul, then slowly nodded. "Yeah. If your parents are like you told me—"

"They are."

She held up her hands. "I believe you! That…information may be a bit for your parents to take in."

Soul balled his hand into a fist and placed it close to the door. Then he pulled back.

Maka looked at him. He was silent for a few moments.

"I don't want to say yet, not because I'm, you know, embarrassed or anything."

"I know," Maka replied quickly, nodding. "You bragged to pretty much half of the Academy."

Soul gave a curt laugh. "Can you blame me?"

"Cute," she said with a smirk. "And you told Wes."

Soul tensed up.

Maka frowned. "You left your own brother in the dark?"

"No, I told him," Soul said. "But he…already knew."

Maka stared for a second, then smiled. "I told you he was perceptive."

"But I told him not to tell Dad. He'd freak the fuck out over that one."

"Language."

Soul rolled his eyes. "I know not to curse in front of my parents. I had that lesson engrained early on."

"So why hesitate to tell them?"

Soul sighed. "The no-cursing lesson is kind of an indication of all of that. It's just…My parents thrive on ammunition."

Maka blinked. "They keep firearms?"

Soul slumped his shoulders.

"I didn't know your parents were combatants." Her smile widened. "So they like weapons? That's a great topic!"

Soul slapped his forehead.

"After talking with Liz and Patty so much, I read a lot on firearms." She balled her right hand into a fist to pound it decisively into her opened left palm. "What a great conversation starter with your parents! Do they also keep scythes? Or maybe swords and crossbows and—"

"Emotional ammunition, you nerd!" He held up his hands like he was going to grip her head, if only to exaggerate so much to paradoxically decompress his anxiety. "They thrive on every little problem that they see around me to use against me, to criticize every little thing I do!"

Maka's frown returned. " 'Little problem'? You're really doing a great job of introducing me to your parents, you know that?"

Soul cringed, then laughed nervously. "I…may have gotten the description wrong."

She crossed her arms, struggling not to laugh as she watched him squirm.

He stared into her eyes, then glanced downward. "After all, there's nothing 'little' about you."

"Soul!"

He continued laughing, gently pushing her shoulder. Then he resumed a serious tone. "Maka, my parents nitpick any little thing that they can. I just want to make a conversation with them go as smoothly as possible, because if they talk shit—I mean, talk badly about you, then I'll give them an earful and storm out."

"Hey." She took his hand. "I don't need you to defend me, I can do that on my own." She smiled. "I'm a kickass warrior who takes no crap off of any petty insults."

"That's why I love ya, babe."

She smirked. "And I'm not going to let anyone talk badly about my boyfriend."

He stared at her, looked down at his hand, then lifted it with hers still in it, as he pointed at their entwined fingers. "Weapon, okay?"

"Right! Insistent terminology!" she said with a smile, shaking their hands but not letting go. She faced the door and inhaled deeply. "You ready?"

Soul nodded.

She held hard onto his left hand, as he knocked the door with his right. They stepped back.

"Remember—butler, not Dad."

"Alright already, I get it."

They stood for a few moments. No one came to the door. Soul growled quietly. "What, no one home to hear?!" he whispered. He pulled back his arm to start pounding on the door.

The door flung open, as Soul's mouth hung open. In front of him and his partner stood a man a bit taller than Soul, but more gaunt. His hair was brown—or, rather, was brown, noticeable gray along his temples. Maka studied the butler, impressed at how professional he was dressed, hardly wearing anything pretending to be a uniform but instead informal but expensive clothes. She shrugged: Soul's parents must pay their hired help well.

Her meditation was awaken, surprisingly, by the silence that persisted, as Soul and the butler stared at each other. She glanced back and forth at the two men—what was up with them? Frowning and rolling her eyes, she let go of Soul's hand, and extended hers to the butler. "Excuse me, sir, sorry to bother you. I'm Maka Albarn, a representative of Lord Death himself in Death City."

The butler stood transfixed, still staring at the young man across from him. Maka's voice trailed off a bit, as she saw the man's red eyes start to well with tears.

"I…" Maka began. "I guess saying 'we're from Death City' is kind of redundant." She rubbed the back of her neck. "And maybe 'representative' is not quite accurate." She nudged her boyfriend—weapon, partner, whatever—to back her up. Hearing nothing, she then looked at him. "Soul?"

He kept staring at the older man across from him.

"Soul?" the man said.

Soul Evans smiled weakly, his eyes softening. "Hey, Dad."

Maka's eyes widened, as she glanced back and forth at the white-haired boy and the brown-haired man. She then slapped her forehead for not noticing the family resemblance.

Soul cleared his throat. "I…I'm sorry."

Maka looked back at him. His head was knelt, as if he was ready to fall onto his knees and beg.

"For everything."

His father's hands balled into fists. The boy felt his eyes water.

"I'm sorry for not writing to you. I'm sorry for not calling, or letting you know where I went. I mean, Wes found me, and I swore him not to tell you, and that was all kinds of shady. But I'm safe, and I'm here. And I'm so sorry, and I just want—"

The wind was knocked out of him, as his father wrapped his arms around his back, and squeezed tightly. "I'm sorry, Soul."

Soul's eyes widened, and then the tears fell hard as he shut his eyes and gripped his father.

Maka took a step back, dumbfounded. Then a smile slowly formed on her face, as she leaned against the house's pillar, watching father and son reunite.

After a few moments of patting his son's back, Soul's father stepped back, looking up and down. "God, you've grown," he said, almost with a chuckle. He then noticed Maka out of the corner of his eye. "Oh, dear, where are my manners?" he said, stumbling before mumbling something in French that Maka did not quite catch. "It was…I'm sorry, what was your name, ma'am?"

Maka held out her hand. "Maka Albarn, Soul's…um…"

"Master?" his father said. "That's what they call you people in the United States, yes?"

Maka smirked—it was now Soul's turn to slap his forehead, which at least had the benefit of covering his face so his girlfriend couldn't see him cry more tears.

"Not…quite," Maka finally said. " 'Partner' may be easier to say."

"Sorry," Soul's father again apologized, clutching her hand. "Wes tried to explain the terminology, but I cannot make heads or tails of it."

"I'm well familiar with it, Mr. Evans—a lot of people outside of our…well, home, tend not to follow it."

"Please, call me Stéphane."

Maka blinked. " 'Stephanie'?" She glanced at Soul. "Seriously?"

Soul almost fell down from laughter. He chalked up Maka's mispronunciation as a faux pas born from her own nervousness. Once he stood up straight and faced his dumbfounded meister and father, he sighed. "Maka, this is Stéphane St. John Evans, internationally renowned violinist and conductor. Father, this is Maka Albarn. People call her my 'meister.'"

" 'Meister'?" Stéphane's French accent was rather sharp in trying to speak the German. Maka's smile widened as she chuckled a bit.

"But I call her my girlfriend."

Maka stopped laughing, her eyes opening wider as she looked at her—weapon? Boyfriend?

"Girlfriend?"

Maka cringed a bit at Stéphane's tone.

"Hmm." The older man's eyes hardened. Was he scrutinizing her?

"Well," the man said, "that is much easier to say!" He clutched Maka's hand again. "Welcome! It is so good to finally meet you! Wes had told me so much about you!"

"Wes?"

Soul slapped his forehead. Was this going to be a trend?

"Yes. I'm so sorry, but I failed to place the name with your identity when you introduced yourself! I am so terrible with names, you see? Anyway, Wes called Soul's mother as soon as he returned from your City of Death—"

"Death City, Dad." Maka felt more at ease upon seeing Soul's gentle smile.

"—and she told me how smart, adorable, and hardy Soul's girlfriend was!"

Maka glanced between Mr. Evans's face and hand, wondering when he was going to stop shaking her hand. "Wait?" she finally said. "Wes said I was 'adorable and hardy'?"

"Well, I am speaking through the filter of the boys' mother—" He stopped. "Oh! Wait!" He dashed—as much as the older man could—back into the house: "Honey! Come here! Soul's home! And he brought his girlfriend!"

As he ran back into the house, Soul and Maka stared through the doorway in disbelief. They then turned to each other.

"My dad has never called my mom 'honey' in my entire life."

" 'Stéphane'?"

"Stop that," Soul lectured her.

"Me?"

Soul kicked himself mentally, as he saw his girlfriend's eyes narrow.

"W-where did 'girlfriend' come from? What happened to 'don't talk about dating,' Soul?!"

"I got nervous!"

"You got nervous?! As soon as you called me your 'girlfriend,' I thought your dad was going to bite my head off!"

He leaned back, looking again through the doorway to see whether he could spy anyone down the hall. "I know, right? It's like he mellowed."

Maka shrugged a bit. "Wes did say that he calmed down since becoming a grandpa."

"Maybe he's drunk," Soul thought aloud. "Or high?"

Then Maka shook her head: "D-don't change the subject! You blindsided me with that introduction!"

He narrowed his eyes. "I said I was nervous! And as you just heard, Wes already blabbed! If you want to blame someone, blame him!"

"I will! The next time I see him, I'm whapping him in the head! But right now, I'm blaming you!"

"Me? Dad shook your hand! Dad never shakes hands!"

Maka shook at her wrist. "Tell me about it." She started rubbing it, as she glared at her boyfriend. "I still think you could have clued me in."

"Would you just freaking drop it, my meister?"

She glared as he said the last part so coldly. "I'll keep raising it, my weapon," she said with equal chilliness.

"Maybe the plan would have gone fine if you hadn't laughed over my dad's name!"

"See, this is why I come up with the plans, Soul! If I leave it up to you, then you change your mind halfway through, improvise, and then embarrass both of us!"

"This isn't some battle strategy, you nerd—this is meeting my parents!"

"And I think it went very well!"

"I agree! In fact, it went great, and you were completely charming!"

"Then why the fuck are you yelling at me?!"

"I don't fucking know!"

"Ahem."

Both girlfriend and boyfriend froze, then slowly craned their necks towards the doorway, where a very irritable Stéphane stood, tapping his foot. He looked to the woman next to him. "Well," he began, turning to his wife. "I see that our son's departure has not improved his manners in the least, dear."

Soul cringed. His father had his ammunition.

The white-haired, blue-eyed woman glanced at her son's partner, then fixated her stare onto her son. "Soul, why must you speak such coarse language? Having heard your girlfriend speak, why must you corrupt this delightful young woman?"

Soul slapped his forehead with his left hand as his right hand motioned to each woman. "Mother, this is Maka. Maka, this is my mother."

He heard nothing. He lifted his head, turning to see his girlfriend, blushing hard, tears welling in her eyes. "Soul?" Maka said, as she sniffed loudly. "Your mother said I was 'delightful'!"

Soul did not know whether to slap his forehead again or laugh.

o-o-o-o-o-o

This text originally appeared on my Tumblr as something for SoMa Week 2014. I wasn't going to write anything for the theme day "First I love you." Then something I've been toying with for a while kind of happened…

While in this tale Soul talks around the first "I love you," this story is more about another first.

(It is hard figuring out names for Soul's parents.)

I really want to revise this story, especially as it is part of something bigger-something that involves Soul's conversation with his mother, that involves how Maka adjusts to her first real time abroad for an extended period. And there are so many other post-Chapter 113 stories I want to write, and I'm not, and I want to wait until I have every little detail perfect because, when I don't, ridiculous errors appear. (This story has had typos such as Soul referring to his "boyfriend" and Maka as his "weapon," so I benefit from taking time to thoroughly proofread.)

At the same time, if I don't force myself to post stories, I will never get anything done: I am in awe of people, especially Obsessed Writer, who crank out stories so quickly, while I'm still hesitating to post. As someone else I read said, better to post something than not even try.

And like I said, I can always re-write-especially because I keep finding more typos.


End file.
